


Art aglow

by carpe_canis



Series: Rayllum Week 2019 [1]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Rayllum Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 22:51:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18433754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpe_canis/pseuds/carpe_canis
Summary: Day 1 of Rayllum Week 2019: Fireflies





	Art aglow

**Author's Note:**

> Decided the best way to dip my toes into writing in this fandom was this challenge, but I may not have the ability to post these on the exact day (already starting off a day behind).

The sound of scribbling on paper has become something of a comfort. A sound that it seems she doesn’t even notice anymore, yet is so keenly aware of that she can detect variations in strokes, almost read her companion’s mood from the difference between harsh lines and light sketches reaching her ears.

This… familiarity, Rayla thinks, is not something she can really qualify. Is this something that happens between any two people who spend a lot of time together? Is it a sign of friendship, this little something she has that, she imagines at least, few others are privy to? Or maybe, she decides, she is just thinking too hard about it. Yeah, that’s probably it.

\-----

When they have a moment to stop, to rest, to just _be_ , Rayla often finds that Callum has settled against a tree or rock with sketchbook and implements in hand by the time she returns from checking the perimeter.

She was already aware of the importance of this… ritual for him, but it had, for a while, still frustrated her slightly that he was so quick to assume _safety_ before she made absolutely sure. Upon being called out on it at the end of a day that had tried her patience a little too much, he had been taken aback for a moment, before sheepishly admitting that he was, simply, trusting her. She’s done an amazing job so far.

Well. The burning that lit her cheeks after that had been from guilt. For at snapping at him. Yes. Definitely not from the intensely sincere and apologetic look he had levelled at her. Nope. Just guilt. Heart-fluttering guilt.

\-----

Tonight the moon is waning, more than halfway dark, but still enough that Rayla feels they ought not risk a fire. Instead, after a quick scout, she sets straight to work unpacking what is needed from their bag for the evening.

Callum, in turn, has meandered a short way from their campsite to sit at the edge of a clearing. She can hear the snap of his sketchbook being undone, the light crack of the leather spine and the flutter of pages as he finds his place. There is a rustling in the grass accented by little trills and yips, telling her Zym must be playing.

Blanket and meager berry rations procured, she is about to quip over her shoulder that dinner is served when the sound of almost manic sketching reaches her. This is new, and it piques her interest immediately.

As she closes the distance with quick and silent strides, she can already see Callum’s back from where he is perched atop a small boulder, faintly silhouetted, not by the moonlight she expects, but instead by a warmer glow dancing around his mop of hair. Forgetting, for a moment, what had brought her to his side, Rayla takes in the sight before them.

Here, floating lazily amongst and above the tall grass, are a small sea of dancing lights. Zym is still jumping happily after them, undeterred by their languid dodging. The sound beside her stills, and she half turns her head as she looks down at him and the sketchbook lying open in his lap.

The noise makes sense now, clicking into place the second she sees what he was working on. Tall grass, a happy baby dragon in the midst of a dynamic jumping pose, and all around is shaded in heavily, save the negative spaces left to indicate the lights. The effect is striking.

“That’s a really nice one,” she comments. A few more of the lights have now floated near them, and one gently lands on the corner of the page. Giving him a soft elbow to the shoulder, she grins down at him. “See, even they think so.”

Smiling softly, he looks up to meet her gaze, and she could almost swear _something_ flickers in his eyes. Before she can think more about it, another one of the creatures is in front of her face, drifting along aimlessly until it bumps into her nose. She can’t see him past the glow, but she hears Callum’s chuckle. “Well, I guess you were right about these little guys being judges of fine art,” he says as he stands and closes the sketchbook. “That one certainly recognizes a masterpiece when he sees it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts and constructive criticism always welcome. It has been a long time since I've written anything outside of a D&D campaign.


End file.
